


"All that was affectionate and insincere"

by interstellar_burst



Series: A number of conversations about one or two things [3]
Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Angst, Gen, Little Sisters, Mild Language, Siblings, Sisters, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar_burst/pseuds/interstellar_burst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself. "<br/>-- Chapter 45, <em>Pride and Prejudice</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	"All that was affectionate and insincere"

The client was late. Caroline tapped her Louboutins on the office chair runner, going over the numbers in front of her one more time and practicing her pitch in her head. She paid special attention to the highlighted section of environmentally sustainable companies. This time, she managed not to roll her eyes.

The firm was experimenting with attracting a new client base of entrepreneurs who were concerned about where their money was invested. This necessitated the hiring of a new analyst, Adam Hurst, who had postgraduate degrees in business, international relations, and economics. He would, in addition to working on his own client load, consult the firm on investments in various domestic and international companies who, in his words, "did good work". Probably by some NPR liberal-based metric or another.

Caroline gripped her tablet in annoyance. She wanted as much of the credit as possible for her work, so she was supplementing her presentations to the partners with her own research on sustainable companies.

They were vaguely impressed, but still wanted her to check her work with Hurst.

In her assessment, Hurst was trying desperately to compensate for being a bland, entitled Ivy League rich boy with his hair, which he gelled into an almost-faux-hawk. This monstrosity (that, amazingly, he was allowed despite the conservative taste of the founding partner) was accompanied by a poseur wardrobe of bowties and suspenders and tweedy jackets.

All of it bothered her to no end.(Other people seemed to find him perfectly amiable despite the itinerant-punk-professor look. At least he didn't wear scarves.)

Caroline reshuffled various papers on her desk into the correct order, and went over which tabs to press first on the presentation app in her tablet. When she glanced at the clock, it was getting close to four thirty, and she was wondering whether she would have time to run for a quick smoke when her phone rang.

"Ok, send them in." Caroline stood and brushed wrinkles away from her skirt before arranging her face into its best at-your-service expression.

The secretary opened her door to a man and a woman who both looked to be in their early thirties. Caroline was glad she wasn't currently having anything to drink because she would have choked on it in surprise. This was the multimillionaire with several smartphone patents to his name?

If he was, he clearly wasn't spending the money on clothing.His sportscoat was clearly not tailored for him. He at least wore a pair of crisp dark-wash jeans, but paired them with scuffed, rubber-soled shoes.

"Mr. Weiss, it's so nice to finally meet you." Caroline hoped her incredulity wasn't evident in her voice. "And you must be Mrs. Weiss."

Weiss greeted her and took the hand she offered. He then pulled a chair for his wife who, Caroline could see now, was sporting a tiny baby bump. She also had auburn hair.

Caroline shook her hand, trying not to grip too hard. The woman didn’t seem to notice because she smiled at Caroline.

“I’m afraid I'm the reason we’re late, Ms. Lee. My batch of meetings ran long and and I insisted to Jack that I be present when he met with you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. And please call me Caroline,” she simpered at them. As if the partners would hesitate in telling her to stay at the office all night at the slightest behest of a client. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what profession you’re in.”

“I’m part of a small graphic design firm in the Arts District,” the woman smiled. “And my last name is Daniels. But please call me Milly.”

Ugh. Milly and Jack. Jack and Milly.

“She’s a partner, actually,” added Jack with a wide smile, compounding Caroline’s distaste.

“But we’re here primarily because of _his_ money,” Milly interjected, pink and smiling lightly at her husband. “I want to make sure that we separate his business assets from anything personal we want to set aside --.”

“You have assets, too,” Jack interrupted, now frowning at her. “I don’t understand why the arrangement has to be that there’s a part of my money that you and the baby wouldn’t have access to.”

Milly sighed, and cast an embarrassed glance at Caroline before turning back to her husband. For her part, Caroline was working to put her eyebrows back into a normal position. She wasn’t at all prepared to mediate family disputes.

“Jack,” Milly said patiently. It was clear she'd recited these points before. “You’re an entrepreneur. You need to be able to keep yourself afloat and not become dependent on other people to provide just any kind of business. You need to maintain some independence."

“But that isn’t fair,” Jack shifted in his seat, and turned to face her. “You have no conditions on your money, and it’s going to be ridiculous if we act like we’re dividing home costs and vehicle costs and travel costs when the reality is that I’m only spending a small part of what I have.”

“Honey, you know I don’t have nearly as much --”

“Well, isn’t that all the more reason to --”

“Excuse me,” Caroline interrupted, deeply uncomfortable. “We can take a look at your wife’s assets as well, if you’ll allow us, Milly. But Mr. Weiss, --”

“Jack.”

“Ok, Jack … your wife is quite right to feel this way.” He cleared his throat, but said nothing. “Not to mention, the protection is also important for your family. You don’t want your personal wealth to be tied to your business, in case you are not able to work for a year or, god forbid, it doesn’t make it.”

Caroline was glad to see that this shut him right up. Milly flashed her a grateful smile. Caroline cleared her throat.

“Please understand that it’s not all financial experts who come here already knowing what to do. In fact, there are many so-called experts who have no idea what to do with their own money. You seem to have some trepidation about this process, so I’ve tried to make this presentation as clear as possible, with as many options …”

***

Perhaps the silver lining to being assigned the less prominent clientele is that they tended to be more amenable to her advice, and less likely to demand coffee from her like she was a flight attendant. As advantageous as seeking the COOs and the trust-funders would be, Caroline had to admit that in this particular case she would trade the high-powered connections with the ease of not worrying about stroking egos. Jack and Milly asked the right questions and didn't need much repetition from her.

Still, the combination of modest backgrounds, advanced educations, and newly happened-upon financial windfall (not to mention that goddamned red hair) made for a desire to stiffen in her chair. She really didn't want to think of _them_ right now.

Who Caroline referred to when thinking of "them" was rather ambiguous at this point.

It could have been the entire Bennet family, who had shoehorned their way into her heretofore orderly existence.

It could have been her brother and Jane, who were now off to some fashionable bohemian do-gooder existence in New York City. Particularly her foolish, sentimental, selfish brother, who left her to be the bulwark of their parents' disappointed hopes.

It could have been --

“Is that William Darcy?” Jack had gotten up and apparently noticed the photographs that Caroline had arranged on a small accent table.

“Uh, yes.” Caroline said curtly. “Now, have I given you --? “

“Family friend?” Caroline silently cursed.

“My brother’s,” she finally assented.

Jack nodded, and in the past Caroline was always gratified to see that her clients were impressed with this particular connection, as if it gave her additional claim to authority. This time, she merely pursed her lips.

“I apologize again for the tardiness, Caroline.” Milly also got up from the chair and held out her hand.

“It’s no problem at all,” Caroline shook her hand and smoothly let go on the pretense of shifting papers on the desk. “And remember you can call me any time you have questions about the portfolio.”

The usual satisfaction at her own ultra-competence had dissipated as soon as Darcy was mentioned; she was not sorry to see the two of them leave. But she couldn't help wandering over to the photograph in question. It was from her party in San Francisco after the she received her MBA nearly two years ago.

Her parents flanked her, beaming. Their daughter had an MBA; after taking a gap year to travel and to study for the MCAT, Bing was finishing his second year in the medical program at UCLA. He seemed ... happy.

Her brother was probably nearly as good as Jane Bennet at hiding his real feelings behind a scrim of good will.

If she felt a twinge of guilt she didn't feel like acknowledging it right then and there.

She switched her attention to Darcy, whom Bing had endeavored to bring into the photo with surprising success. Her brother had an arm around their mother on one side and Darcy on the other; Darcy had his arm around Gigi, the last person in the row.

Gigi was about to graduate from high school. Her face still retained a little baby fat; the hair was still quite long. She was wrapped up in Darcy's left arm, and gazing with open-mouthed amusement at his and Bing's awkward man-posing. Were the Darcys always this way? For as long as she knew them, she couldn't remember the last time she saw Darcy and Gigi exchange hugs.

A few months later, Gigi would leave for the East Coast; Caroline figured that this party may have well been one of the last times Caroline saw her in person. Where Darcy used to talk about her swim and tennis competitions at length, he suddenly stopped.

Caroline felt like a stone was dropped into her stomach. Before she could question herself, she took the frame and stuck it into her tote bag. It was only slightly past six, but she really didn't feel like sticking around. She told herself a lie about bringing some files to work on at home, packed up a few folders for good measure, and headed straight out of her office.

Unfortunately, this process would not go unimpeded. Hurst was down the hall in her direct path, also locking up for the day. He then looked sideways to see Caroline, so she couldn't scramble back into her office and wait him out for a few more minutes.

Caroline actually got into a debate with herself about what kind of steps best conveyed her unavailability for small talk. Quick steps -- an emergency? She would have had to explain. Slow steps -- as in, _way too tired, please go on ahead_. But before she could execute her plan, she saw Hurst stand rooted to the carpet, with a hand in his pocket, looking straight at her; he was clearly going to wait for her no matter what.

Inwardly screaming, Caroline plastered on yet another smile as she walked towards him. Hurst merely cleared his throat.

"You're usually here later than this, Ms. Lee." She struggled for a moment trying not to say the first thing that came to her mind, which was that not everyone was the partners' new tennis buddy.

Instead, she showed her teeth.

"I do try to be thorough," was the first blandly pleasant thing that popped out.

"Yes." Apparently, they were walking out of the office together. Caroline noticed that his clothes appeared a little more worn up close, and became even angrier. Why is it that she had to care about squeezing into an in-season Victoria Beckham dress while these ... men ... were allowed to traipse around in bad suits as they handled practically half the wealth in the world? Her fingers twitched for another cigarette. "On that note, Ms. Lee, would you mind if speak to you candidly for a moment?"

Caroline deflated. This was the lecture she had tried to avoid. The one that doomed her to being a junior associate and not much more. But she nodded and braced herself.

"You are the only one among the analysts who has not actually consulted with me since I began, and I'm a little ... confused. I hope I haven't done anything to offend you."

Caroline was about to respond with a comment that modestly called attention to her meticulous working habits, usually reserved for the senior partners. However, she closed her mouth again on hearing the way Hurst spoke. 'Offend' seemed a rather personal term.

"Well ..." Caroline stalled for time. It wouldn't do to tell him to back the fuck off, even though she had been desperately wanting to ever since he joined the firm. She and Hurst walked slowly to the main waiting area of the office. "I ... apologize, Mr. Hurst --"

"Adam." He interrupted her, quickly, without reservation. The first-name basis did little to appease her annoyance.

"Adam. In any case ... I certainly didn't mean to offend. I only wish to ... That is, I am very particular about the way I handle my cases. I, of course, will continue to bring my work on sustainable investing to you for ... quality control."

Caroline winced at her own words. They sounded vindictive, petty. She wanted to run to her car as soon as possible, especially since Hurst didn't respond right away. The silence grew such that Caroline was compelled to sneak a sideways glance at his face. He was frowning at her.

"I didn't mean --"

"You mistake my --"

They spoke over each other. Caroline didn't want to keep digging in, so she gestured for him to continue.

"You mistake my role with the firm. No, please stop for second, Ms. Lee. I would like to be absolutely clear about this," he stopped her before they headed for the elevators and led the way to a small alcove with a plant in a window. "I am not performing ... quality control ...on anyone's work. I am simply here as a resource. The partners have complete faith in the staff. My role is to help facilitate what is essentially cross-training for different kinds of accounts and financial interests, not to ... be some kind of shadow partner."

Caroline didn't know what to say to this. While Hurst was still a young man compared to the senior staff, she was still surprised that someone she saw in a position of authority was speaking to her like an equal. Indeed, when she studied his face, the speech didn't seem put-on.

"Well ... Adam ... I wasn't implying that you were. I just ... I'm a little loathe to give my work to someone else to check over. You understand." Caroline hoped that was enough.

The firm employed and served a somewhat liberal set, being in downtown Los Angeles. However, it didn't mitigate the fact that the financial industry was .. the way it was. She had all sorts of bland phrasing to avoid talking about work politics. She knew how to laugh it off when senior staff flaunted their club memberships, shrugged when the others stole her suggestions in meetings, even clammed up when clients inadvertently commented on her parentage, her country of birth, her physical appearance.

She chewed on her lower lip before thinking about what else to say, but Hurst's eyes seemed to indicate more comprehension than she was expecting.

"Indeed," he nodded. He gestured that they continue to the elevators. "Nevertheless, Ms. Lee, I am here to make your job easier, not to take credit."

Caroline pressed the Down arrow and turned away in embarrassment. It seemed like she had just given Hurst the impression that she was some kind of aggrieved harridan.

"So ... You are a graduate of Sloan." Hurst held the door to the elevator after it opened. "We may have some mutual acquaintances."

"Mutual acquaintances," she repeated like a parrot. Hurst was apparently moving on to other topics, but Caroline felt marooned in her own self-consciousness. The recurrence of an emotional outburst echoed unpleasantly back to what happened earlier in the month; she couldn't stand that she had made herself foolish twice within such a narrow window.

In the meantime, Hurst ignored her introspection.

"Ranjit Patel, perhaps? I think his students still call him Ray. He made tenure just this year." Caroline startled a bit.

"I was in his Political Economy class in my first semester." Caroline turned to see Hurst smile.

"Ah, yes. We were both in Economics at UMass Amherst. He was writing his dissertation while I was completing my Master's."

Caroline nodded. She remembered the youthful professor. Being an almost purely academic creature, he lacked a certain gravitas for some of the students, who wanted their professors to have been prominent in their past life in the business community.

"His class was ... interesting."

"Uh oh. I hope not in a bad way." Caroline shook her head.

"First day of class. He looks at us like we're roaches and says that he has no tolerance for overgrown frat boys spouting ‘we eat what we kill’ nonsense. I think at least five people dropped the class that afternoon." Hurst laughed.

"Yes, that sounds about right." Hurst held the door open for her again as they reached the first floor. "So, are you from the East Coast?"

"Actually, I'm from San Francisco."

"I seem to remember reading ... Stanford?"

"Yes."

"Oh ... Well, I suppose you wanted a change of scene for the MBA." Caroline cleared her throat and looked away.

"Yes, I did."

Someday, it was going to be possible to have conversations that didn't touch upon William Darcy. Today was not that day.

Hurst motioned for her to walk ahead of him through the revolving doors. As she did so, she was inclined to walk ever so slightly faster.

If she was going to wallow, she needed to do it in the privacy of her home, preferably with more than a few shots in her system. Unfortunately, the garage was still across the street and she would have to endure this painful small talk until they got to their respective cars.

But when she reached the pedestrian crosswalk, she turned to see that Hurst had stopped behind her.

“My ride is actually that way.” Hurst nodded his head towards the underground Red Line entrance.

“Oh.”

“I’m planning to buy a car eventually, but in the meantime this isn’t bad. My apartment is in Little Tokyo, so it’s almost a straight shot on the subway.” Caroline stared at him, incredulous.

“Calling it a subway elevates it to a status it does not deserve.” Hurst rolled his eyes.

“I bet I can count the number of times you’ve actually ridden on it on one hand, Ms. Lee. I can’t tell you the number of derogatory comments I’ve heard from Angelenos who otherwise don’t seem to have stepped a second outside their cars.”

Caroline huffed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Hurst laughed and made to press the crosswalk signal. “Have a good evening, Ms. Lee.”

Caroline about it thought for a second, and then called out to him.

“Caroline. Please call me Caroline.” Hurst turned back to smile at her.

“Have a good evening, Caroline.”

She realized that she had managed to have a casual conversation with someone from work that didn't involve assuring a member of the senior staff that he was the funniest human being alive.

Unfortunately, she was not in a position to fully appreciate it.

When she got to her car, she dumped her various bags in the back seat and began to dig around for the pack of cigarettes.

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about the Ivy League, the financial industry, investment firms, or business school. To all of you who might know something about them, please feel free to correct me.
> 
> Also, I apologize for what might be the driest piece of fan fiction ever written.
> 
> The cigarettes stolen from ["Curled and Wounded"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/756240) by neithersaintnorsinner.


End file.
